


flag

by PlayerTwoHeere



Series: strangers - trash boat [4]
Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Gifts, M/M, Michael’s a nerd, Mourning, Much crying, Self-Blame, i mean it isn’t actually but, immediately after faded lights, its okay michael, remembering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-06
Updated: 2018-05-06
Packaged: 2019-05-03 00:34:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14557023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlayerTwoHeere/pseuds/PlayerTwoHeere
Summary: (full title: flag of permanent defeat)Somewhere in the back of his nerdy mind he wondered if this was what being kissed by a Dementor felt like, if this was how it felt to have your soul removed. Every happy memory was tinged with sadness, regret, longing. Nothing felt right, nothing would ever feel right again. What was a player one without a player two? What was the point of a co-op mission when your companion had died with no hope of regeneration?





	flag

Numb. That’s how Michael felt. He hadn’t been allowed in the ambulance with Jeremy, and he was left shivering in the middle of the street, tears streaming down his face. His fingers and hands and arms and toes and everything was cold, so cold. Michael never got cold, but it felt like without that quiet sense of warmth- the knowledge of Jeremy and his bright eyes and soft hair and kind smile and the fact that he was only one call away- nothing could ever be warm again. 

Somewhere in the back of his nerdy mind he wondered if this was what being kissed by a Dementor felt like, if this was how it felt to have your soul removed. Every happy memory was tinged with sadness, regret, longing. Nothing felt right, nothing would ever feel right again. What was a player one without a player two? What was the point of a co-op mission when your companion had died with no hope of regeneration? 

He remembered a conversation him and Jeremy had, just one in a million, but somehow this one stood out. The summerhouse, the campfire, and the talk of ghosts was somehow vividly colourful and terribly blurry all at once. The feeling of Jeremy’s hands in his hair, looking up at the shadows cast over his pale face from the fire, and then Jeremy’s voice, teasing and alive and beautiful, echoed in his head. ‘I couldn’t just leave you, now, could I? You’d be lost without me.’

Michael felt like sobbing, and maybe he did sob. He wanted to cry out to Jeremy, yes, yes he would be lost without him, he was lost without him, he needed him back, he loved him. From the tips of his brown curls to the sparkle of his eyes to the curve of his jaw to the freckles smattering his nose to the way his hand fit so perfectly with Michael’s, from the scars to his singing voice to the smile that spread cross his face when they beat Apocalypse of the Damned Level 14, Michael Mell loved Jeremy Heere. There was a calming hand on his shoulder- his mother? A neighbour? A paramedic? He didn’t know, but he turned around, and his face was pressed into someone’s shoulder. He cried, he didn’t know the last time he’d cried. It had been years- he couldn’t remember crying since he was ten years old, and he fell over while skating, spraining his wrist. Jeremy was there, and even then Michael was in love with him, with his soothing words and slight stutter. He was crying again, and it was all wrong, alien, like the fact that this person wasn’t Jeremy.

Jeremy was far away by now, driven away in some ambulance. It was too late, he was gone. Michael knew that. There was a sort of emptiness in him he hadn’t felt before, like he was missing something necessary for survival- an arm, a leg, a heart. Michael finally pulled away, his tears clearing slightly, more out of lack of water in his tear ducts than anything. The car was almost wrecked, the driver’s side smashed in. Someone had wrenched the door open to drag Jeremy out.

Michael made his way over to it, ignoring the protests from the people gathered on the winding winter street, looking inside. He ignored the blood on the steering wheel, he had to or else he’d never look at anything else. It was dark and red and he had to look away, look anywhere but there. Lying on the passenger seat floor was a small wrapped box. At any other time, Michael would have smiled at the wrapping paper- tiny Ewoks in Santa hats, Jeremy was such a dork- but a smile seemed like a distant memory now. So did Christmas, and Chanukah, and gifts and happiness and cheer. Jeremy’s Chanukah gift sat waiting on Michael’s kitchen counter. He’d never receive it. 

Before Michael knew what he was doing, he reached into the car, pulling out the gift. The tag read, To: Micah, From: Jer with a heart after it. Michael clutched at it. This was the last thing he had from Jeremy, the last thing he would ever have from Jeremy. 

He hooked his finger in the wrapping paper. Jeremy’s awful job at wrapping stood out to him, even now, as he tore gently at the paper. A small box sat in his palms, barely big enough to hold a credit card. He opened it after a second.

In the midst of tissue paper was a bunch of patches- mostly music related, there was one that he was mostly sure was from Prince, he couldn’t make that connection in his foggy brain. Then, at the bottom, a tiny rainbow flag patch sat. Michael felt his heart stop. For some reason, this pushed him over the edge, this was the thing that made him break out into sobs, this was the point of no return. It was the last straw, the flag of permanent defeat. 

Michael didn’t stop crying until he was inside, in bed. His mom wouldn’t let him go to the hospital to see Jeremy, and he asked, “Is he alive?” At first he wasn’t sure she had heard him through his sobs, or if she didn’t know. Then she gave him the most pitying look he’d ever seen, and it was answer enough. The words ‘too late’ echoed in his head, bouncing around in the emptiness, the darkness in his skull. 

He lay on his bed that night, tears gone, just staring at the patches. They were perfect- Jeremy knew- had known him well. But even as he looked at them, he wondered what he could have done to prevent it. His logic said nothing, it wasn’t his fault, but he couldn’t help it.

If only the drunk driver had sped across the street just ten seconds later.

If only Michael had left his house a little earlier. 

If only he had made Jeremy stay home because of the icy conditions.

If only Jeremy had kept his eyes open for a few seconds more. 

If only, if only.

**Author's Note:**

> oof this was a fun one  
> but NICE FLUFFY ONE IS NEXT  
> feel free to leave feedback, loves, i’d really appreciate it!! <3


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